


Estel Dar

by Gemstarzah, Hakeber



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Memory Loss, fading elves, mentions of torture, missing king, spies that seriously suck at spying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemstarzah/pseuds/Gemstarzah, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakeber/pseuds/Hakeber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fourth Age has begun. A King and Queen rule in Gondor once more. There is an heir to the throne as well, though only young. What happens when the king goes mysteriously missing and the only person with information is an amnesiac spy who may have been involved in his disappearance? Can he be found before time runs out for some of the characters? Who took him and why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fond Farewell

The birthday celebrations for Eldarion were well into being planned.  It was hard to believe that it had been just over two years since her father had sailed for Valinor, and that she'd never be seeing him again.  Arwen was happy though. She had Aragorn, and her son as well now.

 "You'll be back in time for his birthday won't you, Aragorn?" she asked as she walked with him through the corridors.

 “Of course I will,” Aragorn said, wrapping his arm around Arwen while they walked.

 He tried to balance his duties as king with his duties as a husband and father.  It had worked out pretty well so far.  He’d never felt such happiness before, so much love that it nearly burst out of him whenever he saw his wife or child.

 “I’ll talk with Faramir and be back as quickly as I can.”  He pulled her closer.  “I promise.”

 Arwen smiled at him.  “To think you once doubted that you should ever be a King.  You do such a good job, Aragorn.”

 “I’ve learned a lot these past few years,” Aragorn said.  “And you, my love, have helped me in more ways than I can count.”

 He couldn’t believe he had ever doubted his place as king.  Aragorn realized that everything he’d learned, all the friendships he’d gained and hardships he endured served to hone his skills of leadership to a fine point, that he could use to aid his people.  It was rewarding work, almost as rewarding as his family.

 The people of Gondor had never been happier for several thousand years at least.  They finally had a leader again who was not like Denethor who’d almost turned his back completely on them.

 “We will all miss you while you’re not here.  If you get a chance while you’re over there, say hello to Legolas for me, won’t you?”

 Legolas, while at first had been on better terms with Aragorn, had  become quite a good friend to her indeed.

 “I’ll definitely try to meet with him, so we can catch up on each other's lives.  I’ll tell him you send your greetings.”

 "All I ask is that you return safely," she replied.  "And really, it wasn't all me.  My father helped though I know you were not thrilled when he told you... So long ago who you really were."

 Yes Elrond had told her of that once since she'd not been home in Imladris at the time.

 “It was quite a shock,” Aragorn said.  “I’d spent my whole life thinking I was one person, then to be told I was someone else entirely, that even my name was not my own.  But my mother had good reason for asking your father to keep the truth from me.  And yes, your father was a great help and friend to me.  I miss his advice and friendship.”

 He wondered how Elrond and the others were fairing in the Undying Lands.  He missed them all, but was glad they were somewhere where death could not touch them.

 "I miss him too," she replied.  "I always will but I still believe I made the right choice."  She knew she'd never see them again.  "He did not want to let you have me, but he knew a promise was a promise.  Ada would never have broken it after you did as he wished of you.  I'm sure he's very proud of who you've become after that initial shock.  To think I was never once there while you were simply Estel."

 “I am still Estel,” he said.  “I like the idea of keeping that name around, of keeping hope around.”

 "I should think you still are.  You have always been all our hope."

 She called him that at times.  It was a way of remembering those who had been lost over time.  "At least they are safe and I hope my nana was waiting for him when he got there."

 Her mothers’ unhappiness had been the reason which she had dwelt in Lothlórien so long.  Too much sadness back home.

 He pulled her in closer.  “I’m sure she was.  Your mother is at peace now, free from the pain of the past and with her husband for all eternity.”

 "You know, nana knew when she said goodbye to me before she sailed, that she wouldn't see me again.  She told me that whatever choice I made she would be happy for me.  That I shouldn't mourn the years lost from her departure."

 “I think she knew what your choice would be even before you did,” Aragorn said.  “And she loved you enough to let you go.  Just like your father, in the end.”

 He turned to Arwen and returned her smile.  “Do you want to know something?  You will always be my hope.”

 She raised an eyebrow at that one.  That did not need saying about her mother at all.  Every elf had known whose daughter Celebrían had always been.

 Of course she did, else she’d not have said that.  Remember… she is the daughter of Galadriel.  At least they are together as well.  Grad ada Celeborn hasn’t left us all yet.”

 No, he’d gone north into Eryn Lasgalen, formerly Mirkwood.  All the Galadhrim remaining had gone with him too.

 Arwen chuckled.  “Me?  Your hope?  The same could be said about you when it comes to me!”

 “We are each other’s hope,” he said.  “And we will be for as long as we are together.  Your strength is my strength and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 "Well, I guess we are indeed."  She smiled at him.  "I would not have been so happy had I chosen the other path I do not think."

 Aragorn placed a hand on Arwen’s cheek.  “I am so happy to have you.”

 Arwen closed her eyes leaning into his touch a little.  "You are certainly all I needed."

 “I think if I had nothing in my life except you and Eldarion, I’d still be happy,” Aragorn said softly.  “If we lived out in the woods, or on a deserted rock somewhere, I wouldn’t mind, as long as you two were with me.”

 “Minas Tirith needs its king.  It is not the same place it used to be back when Isildur and Anarion ruled Gondor, but it is becoming that city once more.  Thanks to you.  Never forget that.”

 Once he’d doubted that he could be better than Isildur whom the Ring had betrayed.  

 “You once said the Ring could be your undoing, but you proved yourself stronger than Isildur.  You did not fall under its influence in all those months Frodo travelled with you.  I could not be prouder of you.  While he failed to destroy it, I believe you redeemed his line, by helping Frodo get the chance to cast it into Mount Doom.”

 Even if Gollum had been the one to do it in the end.

 “I would never abandon my post,” Aragorn said.  “Not after all that has happened, how far we’ve all come.  And yes, I admit I had my doubts about that cursed ring, but you’re right, I was stronger than it.  I may be the heir of Isildur, but I am not him.”

 He smiled.  “And I have you to remind me of that, whenever I forget.”

 "You will never be him."  She smiled at him.  "I will always remind you, melleth."

 “Thank you,” Aragorn said.  “And I will always remind you how much I love you.”

 She smiled at him.  "I know you will. It is enough for me."

 Aragorn leaned down and kissed Arwen.  “And now I should get going.  Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”

 “I hope so,” she replied.  She would miss him every moment he was gone.  She returned the kiss.  “I’ll see you soon then.”

 "I'll miss you," he said.  He held her for a moment longer, not wanting to pull away.  Finally, he did.  As he walked away, he turned back to her and smiled, waving as he walked towards the entrance that lead outside.

 “I’ll miss you too,” she replied as he pulled away.  She watched him go, smiling.  Once he was out of sight, she turned back to go see if their son was awake.


	2. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A king goes missing.

Aragorn sat on a rock, resting after riding for days. He had been feeling unwell and wondered if some sort of sickness was upon him. He hoped it wasn’t anything that would lay him out. He couldn’t afford any delays, not with Eldarion’s birthday coming up.

 

He was currently in an uninhabited area between Minas Tirith and Ithilien, a nice place to rest a bit and refresh himself with a bit of water.  After he finished, Aragorn stood back up, but found his legs were like they were filled with straw.

 

He stumbled forward, and bumped into a man he hadn’t noticed before. He looked up and saw several more men, all hazy and unclear shapes that swarmed over to him as he felt his stomach twist in protest and attempt to pull him to the ground.

 

Aragorn reached for Anduril and held it out in front of him, forcing his weakening arms to work as he tried to defend himself. But his fingers seized up and the blade fell from his grip. He lunged for it, but one of the men kicked him back, causing his legs to buckle and as he fell to his knees.

 

“What’s the matter?” he heard someone say. “Not feeling well?”

He struggled to get to his feet, but the man kicked him in the face, hard enough to send Aragorn sprawling onto his back. He put his hands to head, as the man kicked him again, then felt a jab of pain through his shoulder as a blade pierced it.

 

Every muscle in his body felt like lead and Aragorn couldn’t even get his legs to twitch. The man stabbed him again, in the same spot on his shoulder and then laughed at the Aragorn’s slurring scream. He felt hands lift him up into a standing position and his vision cleared for a second, then blurred away as someone punched him across the side of his head.

 

“What… do you… want?” Aragorn managed to say.

 

“None of your business,” he heard. He felt something hard hit him across the back of the neck and everything turned to black.

 

***

 

When Aragorn hadn’t come, Faramir started to get worried. It wasn’t like him to be late and after days had passed, he asked the elves to aid him in finding out what had happened. He went with them as they searched.

In a rocky outcropping, Anduril sat on the ground, surrounded by scuff marks and smears of blood. But there was no sign of Aragorn and even the footprints and scuff marks ended at a certain point, leaving no trace to where they might lead.

 

Legolas had of course, come to help find his missing friend. There was no way he was going to let his people search while he remained at home. Something had happened, and it shouldn't have, given Aragorn's skill with a sword.

When they reached the rocky area, he and a few other elves went up; it was hardly an easy place to climb up to.

Almost immediately he spotted Anduril.

"Faramir! Up here!" he called.

 

Faramir climbed up the rocks as quickly as he could. When he pulled himself up, he rushed over to Legolas and stopped at the sight of the sword. He stared at it in shock, and at the blood and marks on the ground.

 

He stepped carefully now, so as not to destroy any signs that could be used to figure out what happened.

“This is impossible,” he said. “Aragorn wouldn’t just leave Anduril behind. And he wouldn’t have been ambushed either. Something’s not right.”

 

"That I agree about, Faramir,” Legolas said. “Aragorn's too strong for that to happen. Even I couldn't beat him in a duel." And he used two blades!

Glancing at two of the elves around him, he nodded and they climbed up into the trees vanishing from sight.

"Asked them to look around and see if they spot anything that might give us some idea which way."

 

Faramir stared at the ground. “Who’s blood is that?” he asked. It couldn’t be Aragorn’s. There’s no way it could be his. But if it wasn’t, where was he and why was his sword just sitting in the dirt?

"Not black blood so it’s not Orc blood. And it doesn't smell like that of an elf either." They did smell different indeed, to humans or dwarves. "Nor dwarf or hobbit. Some human's but I can't say who."

Good refined senses of an elf told Legolas that.

Legolas indicated the sword. "I think one of us should take that to Arwen though." He'd never use her title and she never expected it nor did Aragorn.

 

Faramir sighed. “We might still find him,” he said. He looked down at the sword. “I just… How can Anduril be here? What could have possibly made Aragorn drop it? It doesn’t make sense!”

 

"We will be to the bottom of this, Faramir," Legolas replied. Carefully he walked over to where the sword was, to pick it up. He left no mark as to where he'd stepped. "I'll take it back."

 

"I'll make sure every inch of this place is searched," Faramir said. "And I won't stop there. He will be found. And if anyone is responsible, they will be dealt with."

 

"Keep me informed, would you? I'll take Anduril back to Arwen and then when I can I shall re-join the search. I'm not going to rest until he's safe again."

Legolas sighed. "The two I sent ahead will report back to you if they see I'm not with you. They both speak Westron."

He turned to head off.

 

“I will not rest either,” Faramir said, shaking his head sadly. He looked over at Legolas. “I’ll send word to you if we find him while you are delivering the sword.”

 

Legolas nodded, before starting back down the cliff, only to give a relieved snort as he spotted Anduril's sheath in a bush on the way down. He carefully sheathed the sword before continuing down.

Legolas took careful time to walk back to where he’d left his mount, before riding swiftly back to Minas Tirith. His heart was heavy, but he knew someone had to have made a mistake in ambushing his friend.

Once there, and knowing people stared if they realised he was an elf riding past, not that he cared, he rode straight up to in front of the palace at the very top and headed in. None of the guards would stop him, not when he was armed as he was, with bow and quiver, as well as his own long knives sheathed at his back.

___

 

Arwen called for the room to clear when she saw her friend.

 

“Any news?” she asked.

 

Legolas sighed, before revealing Anduril from where it was hidden under his cloak for now.

“I’m afraid this is all we’ve found so far, Lady Arwen. Many of my Silvans as well as Faramir and his Rangers are still searching. We found this on a rocky outcrop so now we have a starting point. Everything that can be done will be, I promise you.”

 

Arwen reached for the sword, and Legolas handed it over. “I will write to Rohan and ask King Éomer to help as well. If he’s been missing a few days there’s no telling whether he’s not been taken beyond our borders.” She would not give in yet. Legolas gave her the sword. “Until he’s found, Anduril remains with me.”

 

Legolas nodded. “I will get back to searching, my lady.”

 

She nodded.

 

He turned and headed off. He would inform Faramir of what had transpired.

____

 

It did not take him long to reach where Faramir had been before. The others were not there, but, even as careful as the men of Ithilien were, they couldn’t move silently, and he was able to track them.

“Only me,” he said as he stepped out of the woods around them.

 

Faramir walked over to Legolas as he came into view. He shook his head, his neck turning sullenly as if anchored by an unseen force.

"We have no luck so far," he said. "No sign at all about what happened."

 

"Arwen was able to cope with what I told her. She doesn't know exactly how long he's been gone, but in case he's no longer in Gondor, she's writing to King Éomer of Rohan as well."

Legolas sighed.

"She's keeping Anduril now."

 

"I still can't understand how this happened," Faramir said. "Who could have managed this?"

 

"All I can say is that the King is alive. Arwen's still acting normal. Were she not then things would be dire."

He sighed.

 

"I'm not sure how much you might know about my kind.. But so long as she's still acting normal it means he's alive. For elves... The death of our mate, or in her case husband, is usually the death bringer for the surviving one of the pair."

He paused.

"I don't know who do this. I'd say orcs but he'd not be overcome by them."                       

 

"Alive, but where?" Faramir asked. "And for what purpose?"

He kicked at the ground, sending up a plume of dirt. "He could be in danger! He could be in pain!"

 

"I don't doubt the second one," Legolas replied. "Trust my scouts there are things elves can see that you'd miss."

 

"I know," Faramir said. "I just hope we'll be able to find him soon."

 

"I'll send word to some other places that might be able to help keep an eye out for him. Where my people live."

Legolas sighed.

"One way or another he'll be found but not with us just standing around."

 

"You're right," Faramir said. He walked over to the edge of the rocks and started down. "This is not a time to be idle."

 

"Arwen will only remain steady for so long. The sooner he's found the less likely she'll fade until she dies," Legolas agreed. He did not need that on his hands at all. Not when one day... "Not something I need if I'm to one day see Elrond again when I sail."

 

"I won't let that happen," Faramir said firmly. "She will be reunited with Aragorn. Neither the king or queen will die, not for a long long time."

 

"If we're lucky and Aragorn lives his full expected life, then that should be well after you do."

 

Faramir sighed, Legolas' words filling him with dread.  If we're lucky . He wanted to shout, to deny that luck had anything to do with it, that Aragorn would be fine. Instead he just stopped and clung to the rocks in mid climb, resting his forehead on a stone. He sighed again, this time deeper and stretched out, long and hollow like the wind.

 

Hearing a whistle call, Legolas looked up. One of his scouts had returned, and the elf dropped down from the trees.

"Yes?" Legolas asked.

"We followed a trail but it got to the river and vanished from there."

 

Faramir looked up from where he was clinging to the rocks. “Is there any sign at all?”

Legolas asked several questions of the scout, in Sindarin to make sure they had the full story.

"Apparently there's a trail, that's taken some disguising but nothing that they couldn't follow, leading to the Anduin. The second scout's searching the river, and has asked that I send someone to help her so the other side can be searched as well."

Not that that other side was any help, it was back on the Minas Tirith side.

 

“What can I do to help?” Faramir said. “My tracking skills are not as refined as you and your people, but they could be of use.” He would send word to anyone he could and enlist their help later, but he also wanted to do something immediate. Faramir couldn’t just climb back down and wait for information.

 

Legolas looked at the others he'd brought with him. There were two other Westron speakers amongst his kin that were with them at the moment.

"We split up once we reach the river. Some of us will follow it to the sea, the others will head up toward Rohan. I'll leave one of my Westron speakers with each group of you so we can communicate if we find anything."

 

Faramir nodded as his feet finally touched the ground and he started to walk towards the river. "I will go with the group heading towards Rohan," he said. "And I will contact Éomer and ask for his help in the search."

"Arwen's probably already sent word toward Rohan, she was going to do so when I left. Wouldn't be surprised if you see some of the Rohirrim about closer to the border."

 

Faramir gave a grim smile. "Hopefully some of them will have news of Aragorn's trail," he said. "Or hopefully we'll have news to share with them."

 

Legolas nodded. "I hope so. I'll be on the other side of the river," he replied. "I will head for Rohan, I can't head for the sea."

 

"Then I will head to Rohan with you," Faramir said. "And we will search together."

 

"I must not go toward the sea again, not until when I wanted to. I wouldn't be able to turn back to here if I did."

Legolas nodded.

"Aside from having the river between us, yes we will."

 

Faramir sighed. "Let us start," he said. He started to walk, his mind focused on finding Aragorn, so much that it wasn't completely focused on the task at hand, running on emotion and instinct instead of reason.

The scout led the group along a trail that the Edain would not be able to see themselves, toward the river.

 

The river was deep where she stopped, another elf on the far side.

 

Legolas smiled and nodded.

 

One of the elves, the one on the far side, shot an arrow with a piece of rope attached over a branch of a tree on the side everyone else was on, and soon another two followed.

 

"Here we split up," Legolas said, before running lightly along the lower rope across to the Minas Tirith side. The two other higher ropes acted as hand holds if they were needed.

 

Faramir wondered for a moment how elves could be so light footed, then he looked down the river, trying to see if he could spot anything with his trained mortal eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he saw nothing but mud and wilderness and that frightened him.

“I wish I could be of more use,” he said sadly.

 

Two of the elves had stayed on the same side as Faramir, and the one who stayed with his group smiled at him. "Not to worry, Lord Faramir. We will try to help you see what we do."

 

"Thank you," Faramir said. He looked around. "Do you see anything here? There has to be something of Aragorn's trail. It couldn't have just vanished." If it did, if whoever was behind this could hide their way so thoroughly... Faramir didn't want to think what would happen if that was true.

 

The elleth nodded. "It is very faint, as though something was almost being dragged, though most of the weight was off the ground." She nudged a part of the ground. "They have some skill, not enough for now anyway to confuse us."

 

"Dragged?" Faramir asked. "If this is Aragorn's trail, he would not allow anyone to drag him without a fight. He has to be incapacitated in some way."

 

The elleth nodded. "No, he would not, from what I've heard from Prince Legolas." She sighed, looking ahead for any other marked areas. "I see other places where the ground is marked, I think he must have tried to do something to leave us a trail. Shall we continue?"

 

"Yes," Faramir said, as he waited for her to continue on. He felt a little better, knowing that Aragorn was attempting to leave a trail. That meant he wasn't dead. "What is your name?"

 

“Celedúath, or as it translates into Westron, Silver Nightshade.” She smiled at him. “I came to Ithilien with a few others from Imladris. We all knew Aragorn when he was a child.” That marked her out as one of the Noldor.

 

"We're lucky he has so many skilled friends willing to help," Faramir said. He hoped... no he  knew , that it would be enough.

 

Celedúath nodded. "Very much so."

 

His eyes grew serious. "Do you think we'll find him?" he asked. So much of the details they had already found weighed heavily on Faramir's heart, letting doubt worm its way in.

 

"I hope we do."

 

"There's a lot of hope going around," Faramir said. "I will try to keep my own up, for Aragorn's sake."

 

"Odd as it may sound, we called him that once... hope. Or rather Estel." She smiled at him. "We will do all we can to find him."

 

"That is a fitting name for him," Faramir said. "He's been the hope of so many. Maybe we can repay some of that hope back to him in these dire days."

 

"It was also a cover for who he really was, while he was only a boy," she replied. "Some of us had no idea why Lord Elrond chose that name."

 

"It was quite the surprise when we started to find out who he was," Faramir said. "We knew him as Thorongil and had not a clue as to his true heritage."

 

Celedúath laughed. “Indeed, even then he sought to remain hidden, even from those who knew he lived. Now there is no need for him to hide himself. All know him, and I daresay, orcs would fear him.” She smiled. "Not many in Rivendell knew the truth about him, until it was revealed."

 

"After the amount of orcs he's killed, they should," Faramir said, laughing as well. "Honestly, I think he prefers not having to hide. He seems more comfortable now and he once told me that he doesn't feel lonely anymore. He said a life of hiding was a life of isolation."

 

"The rangers were isolated until the war was over at last," Celedúath agreed as she walked. "It's better for all of them I think."

 

She paused at another spot, frowning, eyes searching.

 

Faramir stopped walking and looked down as well. "What is it? Celedúath, did you spot something?"

 

She wasn’t completely sure what had made her stop now. A tiny glint of gold had caught her eye. Celedúath bent down, carefully retrieving what looked like a green leaf edged in gold from the dirt.

“Rare it is that a buckle like this should be found here. It’s from Lórien, and I wonder if he was wearing the cloak he was given there. This could only have come from it.”

 

Faramir considered the item carefully. "Is he leaving clues, or are they shedding anything that could identify him? It would make transport easier for his captors if there were less items that called out to those they passed that King Elessar was in their midst."

 

“Indeed, it could be either, Faramir,” she replied. She sighed.  “Oddly, only an elf really would have known the significance behind this… whereas Anduril on the other hand I can understand them leaving behind.”

 

"Could there be elves aiding in this?" Faramir asked, his heart clenching at the thought. No, elves would not do such a thing.

 

She frowned, very unamused. "My kin would not do something like this. Kidnapping something is not what we would ever sink so low as to do."

 

"I wouldn't think so," Faramir said. "But could a man have gained elven knowledge, or worse, brought an elf forcibly into their service?" He shook his head, trying to get rid of all the dark thoughts, but dozen of worst case scenarios played through his head, taunting him.

 

"The last time someone dared do such a thing... Let us just say their head remained on their shoulders for a very short time. I speak of someone from Imladris when I say that."

Her mate. He'd faded too from the grief.

"I can only hope my mate awaits me on the shores of the Undying Lands when I sail."

 

"I didn't mean to bring up such pain," Faramir said softly. "I'm sorry."

 

"I may have felt the sting of the unkindness wrought upon my mate by mortals... But I do not bear a grudge against all of you."

She paused.

"You have nothing to apologize for but I guess you see why I was so eager to help search."

 

"Mortals can be a violent bunch," Faramir said. "I've never understood it. And this act seems so pointless! If it was for ransom, they would have left a note. If it was regicide, they would have left the... body... where it lay. What are these people's aims?"

 

"Aside from confusing us all? I'm not sure," she admitted. "All of you baffle me sometimes." She sighed. "I know when it came to my mate.. It was revenge."

 

"Revenge usually turns out worse than other crimes," Faramir said. "I hope it is not the case here."

 

"If it is the reason... Then against who? Arwen or Aragorn... Or Gondor?"

 

Faramir sighed. "It could be either," he replied. "People get strange ideas in their head when it comes to revenge and whether they've been wronged."

 

She nodded. "Of that there's no doubt." She remembered all too well that it had been her grandparents who had wronged those humans but with none other than her left in middle earth they'd taken it out on her by doing what they'd done to her mate. "Sometimes it's not the people explicitly involved that are the issue. Before I dealt with those who harmed my partner so I learned it was my grandparents at fault, but they sailed two Ages ago."

 

"If that's the case, it will be harder to track these people down." Faramir looked over at the river. "And it's such a waste. Aragorn doesn't deserve any of this. Neither did your mate, or you."

 

"That I agree about. I don't even know if what they said they did is true or not. I won't till I sail. At least those file men were found and dealt with." By her own sword too.

 

"Now we just have to find the men behind this," Faramir said. His eyes hardened to narrow slits. "And if they've hurt Aragorn, I'll make sure I’ve been dealt with myself."

 

Celedúath shook her head. "I think Arwen will want to see who is responsible, Faramir. No elf would settle for mere words when it comes to something happening to their mate."

 

Faramir nodded, realizing the haste of his words. "You're right. She has more of a claim than I. But we shouldn't talk like this. We are going to find Aragorn before anything happens to him."

 

Her eyes had been searching the land ahead of them. She paused. "No we shouldn't be... But I think we're out of luck on this side of the Anduin unless the Prince sees anything on his..."

She pointed at a series of slightly dug in areas near the water’s edge. "There were boats here."

 

Faramir growled in frustration. "This is a nightmare," he said. He looked down at the marks. "Isn't there some way we can track them on the water?"

 

"Unless the other search groups that went for the sea have seen anything not really," she replied. "When was he meant to meet with you?"

F

aramir sighed, a deep sigh that lasted several seconds. "Two weeks and two days ago. At first, I thought Aragorn had merely been detained, that his horse was injured or the main way had become blocked. But after the second week, I started to grow worried and gathered people to search for him."

 

"Arwen said he should have been back before Eldarion's birthday. That was two weeks ago..." The elf frowned. "He won't be in Gondor by now."

 

"He would not have missed that," Faramir said. "If he was meant to be back for his son's birthday two weeks ago, then I was expecting a week him too late. Someone must have made sure I got the wrong date of his arrival wrong. He might have been missing for three weeks, even a month! He might not be anywhere near Gondor."

 

"No, I do not think he would have missed that. Arwen said that he said he'd be back in time, not to worry." She sighed. "At least we can confirm what we've found."

 

"Which is nothing," Faramir said. "Just dire news that this is not going to be a quick and easy recovery."

 

Celedúath sighed. “If there were any chance they might have camped along the Anduin in Gondor now, then I’d suggest to my Prince that we send elves along the river to check, but with this much time gone, it would be futile.”

 

"We still have to try," Faramir said. "We have to do anything that might aid in his return, no matter how small the chance."

 

"I will speak to him when he joins us once more, and once we know they did not head for the sea as well. We will do what we can, Faramir."

While there were some humans she still couldn't stand being around, he was not one of them.

 

"I... I'm just worried," Faramir admitted. "I wasn't worried at first, but that was when I thought we'd find him quickly, standing tall with a story about how he escaped."

 

"We're all worried, Faramir. It's natural in this situation."

 

"If we don't find Aragorn," Faramir said, forcing himself to voice the worst of his fears. "What do you think will happen to him?"

 

"Anything, Faramir. I don't understand that side of humans much." She sighed.

 

"Nor do I," Faramir said. "But I've seen that side of my kind, up close and personal. The war focused it, but humankind has a tendency to destroy itself from the inside out in times of peace as well. There are crimes against each other from neighbors and kin, theft and murder for slights both large and small. I've seen it happen time and time again. And that frightens me, not just for Aragorn, but for humanity itself."

 

"Those concepts are not alien to the elves, Faramir. Before you awoke there was much of the same and it tainted the Noldor, such as me. What years I remain here I do so to help the Edain."

 

"I think they taint us all to an extent," Faramir said. "And I admit they are useful in certain circumstances. But I've seen them explode into bloody excess quite often and I... I don't want that sort of violence to befall my king."

 

"Try surviving through three kinslayings, Faramir. The Valar for I'd such things and yet they happened. I never drew a sword against my kin though."

 

"I guess these extremes are in every people," Faramir said. "Not just men. Men are just really good at taking both sides of things to destructive extremes. A lot of times either destructively good or destructively evil. Except for Aragorn. He was something special." Faramir frowned. "No, is, not was. Damn, I'm already counting him as gone! What is wrong with me?"

 

"You are stressed out over his whereabouts," she pointed out. "I will not call the kinslayers of the First Age evil. Morgoth, the Valar who caused those battles amongst elven mind  was evil."

 

"That's the kind of evil I am glad is gone from this world," Faramir said. "And yes, I am stressed. Anything can have happened in the time since he was taken."

"The rest of the Valar were not evil. They made middle earth."

She smiled.

"Tonight I will ask Elbereth to look after him until we find him."

 

"I wouldn't dream of calling the rest of the Valar evil," Faramir said, seeming shocked by the mere idea. "But I have heard of Morgoth and the tales of his deeds." He smiled as well. "Thank you. May she watch over him and lead him home if possible."

 

"I will ask Manwë if he will give his strength as well." She smiled.

 

"You should ask for us as well," Faramir said. "Strength to continue the search, no matter how long."

 

Celedúath inclined her head. "I will." She knew there had to be some way to ask the Valar for their strength and guidance.

 

He looked around. "Where should we continue the search? I see no point in continuing down the riverside if they took to the water."

"They would have been able to go all the way through Rohan if they were smart enough... The Anduien reaches as far north as Legolas' birthplace, Eryn Lasgalen."

 

"If we could determine their final destination, we may have more luck searching," Faramir said. "But where could that be?"

 

"At a guess? North of Rohan certainly. We should head back to Minas Tirith and discuss this."

 

"I agree," Legolas added as he appeared.

 

Faramir turned to Legolas. "Did you find anything?" he said. "We found an entryway for boats on this side. Plus, I fear that Aragorn has been missing for longer than the two weeks I originally thought."

 

Legolas shook his head. "No, nothing, and the scouts I sent south returned with the same news."

 

"He could be anywhere by now," Faramir said softly. "His captors could have even reached their destination."

 

Legolas groaned. "More than likely. I will send word to my old home, and see if scouts can be sent out."

 

"Good," Faramir said. "They might find at least a trace." He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Then he started to move away. "The sooner we get to Minas Tirith, the sooner we can start discussing what else we can do."

 

Legolas nodded. "Let’s head back. Arwen likely has other ideas of places to try."

 

Faramir nodded. "And we have to inform her of what we've found... or didn't find."

 

That in itself was a big disappointment for Legolas. “Did you find anything? They did not touch the other shore.”

 

“A fallen Lórien leaf, Legolas, from a cloak,” Celedúath answered. “That’s all aside from the boat track here.”

 

Legolas groaned.

 

"At least we didn't find any more blood," Faramir said. Maybe that meant that Aragorn wasn't all that badly injured. Of course, he could only see obvious signs of blood, not the drops obscured from human eyes.

 

"I saw no more blood," the elleth replied, she turned in the direction Minas Tirith was.

 

"I am glad," Faramir said, as he walked quickly across the ground. "I don't even want to think about Aragorn being injured."

 

"None of us do, my friend," Legolas replied. "Not once while we were travelling across Middle-Earth to end up in Gondor distracting Sauron, did he get hurt."

Legolas nodded. "How this is even possible baffles me too."

 

"They must have found some way to incapacitate him," Faramir said. "Maybe through magic or some sort of poison."

 

"Yet he still left some trail for us..."

 

***

 

The walk took them some time, but eventually they reached the city and made their way through, up to the palace.

 

Arwen was waiting for them out in the sun outside the palace itself. She was sitting by the White Tree.

 

"We have dire news my lady," Faramir said, as he stepped over to where Arwen sat. "We were unable to find Aragorn or where he has been taken to..." He sighed and closed his eyes. "And we have reason to believe he's been missing longer than we first thought."

Though she remained mostly composed, it was clear this distressed Arwen, to those who knew her.

"You have searched everywhere?"

 

"As much as we could without crossing into other realms, yes, Lady Arwen," Legolas said. "We found a trail but they appear to have used boats at one point and we find no other trail leading away from the river anywhere in Gondor's lands."

 

Arwen frowned. "Then he is not here in Gondor." She paused. "I will ride then, to seek out my brothers. They may know something." She stared at Faramir, daring him to challenge her.

 

"My lady," he said. "Your place is here, with your people." He knew that if she left, he'd be stuck in Minas Tirith, fulfilling his role as Steward and unable to do anything to help. "Let me continue the search. I could head towards the lands their boats would have to pass through."

 

"No!" Arwen glared at him. "I will go. My brothers will have some other alternative."

 

"I can't just stay here and do nothing while my king, my friend is missing, possibly hurt!" Faramir said, forgetting in his stress that for Arwen, Aragorn wasn't just a king and friend, but her husband.

 

Arwen glared at him. "Friend yes to you he may be: but to me, he is my husband! My mate! Your life isn't tied to his! Mine is!"

 

Arwen's words were like a slap to the face, bringing him back to his senses. "I am sorry, my queen. This is harder for you than it is for all of us." He swallowed his pain back down. "Isn't there someone who could take my place as steward, at least until Aragorn is found?"

 

"Aragorn gave you that role because he trusts you, Faramir," Arwen said. "As I do."

 

"But..." Small tears filled Faramir's eyes, the stress and fear finally getting to him. "I have to help him! I can't just sit here!" He clenched his fists, looking for something to punch and settling on a nearby wall.

 

Legolas sighed. "As do I, Faramir, but Gondor needs you just as much."

 

"Look after Gondor, Faramir. I know not how long I will be gone. I will take Eldarion with me, at least to Rivendell."

 

Faramir sighed. "I will," he said. He leaned against the wall. "And there's still hope. There are still people out there, searching for him. He will be found."

He didn't know if he was saying that for Arwen's benefit, his, or both of theirs.

 

Legolas reached out a hand to rest it on Faramir's shoulder in a more comforting gesture. "He will be found. May the Valar have mercy on those responsible, for I doubt we will show them any."

 

"No, they'll get none from me," Arwen replied. She was determined to find him.

 

"I wish them nothing but agony," Faramir said, his voice cold with simmering rage.  "And if they hurt him in any way, I wish them death."

He did not know if he really meant it, but at the moment, the words rang true.

 

"Have to beat me to them when it comes to that one," Arwen replied. "I will leave in the morning."

 

"I don't doubt it," Faramir said, smiling grimly. "They won't know what hit them. And good luck in your search. I hope he is found quickly."

"As do I." Before she started to fade.

 

Faramir had heard about elves fading away to death when their mates were gone, but he didn't mention it at the moment. It wouldn't be proper to remind her of such a thing. "Don't give up hope," he said instead.

 

"I ride for that very reason which you might already know. To not lose what fragile hope I still hold."

 

"I understand," Faramir said. "May your hope stay with you until you are reunited with Aragorn once again."

 

"Thank you." She wouldn't stay here, it would kill her.

 

"I'll keep everything under control here," he said, no longer caring as much about being out of the search. Arwen's life depended on her being a part of the search. Aragorn's life might depend on it too.

 

"I know you will," Arwen replied. "I will send word."

 

"Please do," he said. He looked over at Legolas. "Where will you search?"

 

"I will think on it before I move once more," Legolas replied. "First though, since I know Gondor not so well as you... I'm with you. To go look at a map."

 

Faramir nodded. "I will show you to the map room. It has many useful maps of the surrounding area and beyond."

He took a deep breath. "Come, let us work out where you should search next."

 

Legolas nodded. Before glancing toward Arwen, who was at least smiling now. "I will do as much as I can to protect Gondor while I search."

 

"And I will do my part here," Faramir said. "Arwen you can focus everything on your search, knowing that everything is in order in Gondor."

 

Arwen nodded. "I intend to do so." She only had a matter of time. "I will take Anduril with me."

 

"That is best," Faramir said. "You can return it to Aragorn when you find him. It belongs wherever he is."

 

"Indeed it does." She smiled, slightly, before turning to head off. She had to talk to her son and organise some other things too.

 

Faramir turned to Legolas. "Let's go see those maps," he said. He turned around and headed in the direction of the map room.

Legolas followed after him. Time to plan.


	3. Munta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who in Arda is that strange prisoner turned spy?

Life. It kept turning, churning along, like a stream, tossing people like stones until they were worn down to dust. Munta felt like a stone, smoothed and worn at the edges. He wondered how long he’d been tossed about, how many pieces he’d lost in the cold torrent of life.

He couldn’t remember much from before, only bits and pieces, so scattered and jumbled that he didn’t even know if they belonged together. He recalled blood and screams that weren’t his own, sharp angry stabs as he fought his way through a blurry crowd of people, a man sprawled on the ground, clutching at the dirt with his paling fingers. There was a sword, glinting on the ground in the sunlight, as Munta stared down at it, his hands soaked in blood.

Then darkness. And a cold, dark cell filled with dank rot, crusted on the floors and walls in a thick layer, with nothing but a few rats and tiny flecks of bone. Munta had sat there for days, the world still blurry and dazed as it was in his fleeting, violent memories.

Back then, he didn’t have a name, only a mess of words tumbling through his head, twisting around and bouncing about and leaving only echoes, so nothing made sense as if the whole world was nothing but a dream. In a way, it was a comfortable dream, more comfortable than the death and chaos in the few images he could conjure from whatever his life had been before.

As his mind slowly started to clear, guards started coming into his cell, tall broad shouldered men that stayed blurry in his memory, even when all else began to unclutter in his mind. All he remember of them was their dark red uniforms, red pants and shirts with that swam hazy in his mind like blots of ink.

“Get up murderer,” they said each time they came, before dragging him out of his cell and down a dark hall and down a pair of stairs that lead to an even darker area, where even the torches from above couldn’t reach.

They brought him to a circular room, where one of the guards would light a single torch that hung from the ceiling, cutting through the darkness and casting everything in shadow. There was a table, crafted of wood and metal on the far end, set low to the ground and sized for a man to lie on. Several other tables were scattered about, small, round and set about waist high.

These tables were filled with metal devices, clamps and long blades and tiny, almost dainty, little saws. The first time Munta had seen them, his mind was still too cloudy to know what was going on and he imaged he was in the workshop of a toy maker, working in the shadows to hide his creations from the children above.

The guards had led him over to the table and gruffly stretched him down on it, before strapping his limbs and neck to the frame with tight straps. The first time, he lay there docilely in his stupor, at least until the pain started.

Then he screamed and thrashed like an animal, while the guards greedily carved into his skin, as if he was a parchment and their blades were paint. They burned, gouged and pulled at his flesh, always leaving his face alone. The first few weeks, they did their work as if he was not there and only spoke to one another, like gibbering statues made of flesh. As Munta’s mind began to clear and he started to speak, so did they.

“Why are you doing this?” he’d scream again and again.

While most of the guards just laughed, one responded with a dispassionate litany of his crimes, as they continued their work. “You killed an entire village,” he said. “You slaughtered men, women, and children, without mercy. You slaughtered them like animals. You kept their teeth as your trophies. Then you burned the village to the ground and went on the another.”

Through his pain, Munta learned there had been a war, where men fought against a supreme evil named Sauron, unaware that an evil closer to home was using the chaos as a cover. He’d cross from village to village, killing in such a way as to pin blame on the Uruk-hai, a breed of orc who were part of the war.

But Munta made a mistake. He kept trophies. He’d pick each skull clean of their teeth and carry them in a large sack he wore over his shoulder. After the war, people became suspicious of the carnage in three villages close together, yet far away from the fighting. And then they noticed Munta, the traveler with a sack that clinked like bone as he walked.

The pain aided in each word, each deed pressing into Munta’s mind and memory, even if he couldn’t remember the acts themselves. And they horrified him, just as much as the blood and agony he went through every day.

“And this is to remind you of your crimes,” one of the guards said, one day months or years later. It was hard to tell time when everything was a constant throb of pain.

The guard reached down and ran a blade across Munta’s face, starting just above his eyebrow and carving across his left eye and down under his nose, over to his right cheek, where the guard cut in a spiral pattern. Then he cut across and under Munta’s chin and over his neck to his left shoulder, ending just above the armpit.

They never came back for him after that. Munta sat in his cell, eating the bowl of grimy meat pushed across the floor, enjoying the calm darkness once again. The next day, someone came to see him.

The man wasn’t dressed as a guard. He wore a silver shirt and pants, along with a silver belt with a dagger with a silver handle and blade. The man also had a silver helmet on his head, with only a small slit for eyes, revealing a parchment thin view of the man inside.

Munta scurried back, but the man held up his hand, then lifted the front of his helmet up like a flap. His face was tight, with a smattering of wrinkles starting to peek out from a fairly young face. Munta scurried back even more.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said calmly. “I’d like to help.”

“Why?” Munta said. “Who in their right mind would help _me_?”

“It’s not for your benefit,” the man said. He removed his helmet and set it on the ground, revealing reddish blonde hair cut short above the ears. “I’m in the need of a new member of my little organization and it’s not like you’re in a position to refuse.”

The man’s eyes glinted with satisfied malicious glee, like two pools of freshly churned mud. He smiled slightly and waited for Munta to speak. Munta stared at him and tried to think of an alternative, but all he could see was the guards’ eventual return and him rotting to death in pain, filth and darkness.

“Fine,” Munta said. “But could you answer some questions for me? What is my name? Why can’t I remember anything? And just what do you want me to do?” He winced back, as if expecting his words to be met with anger.

But the man only laughed, a bitter sound like the rattle of a snake about to strike. “I have no clue about your memory, or your name, only your crimes. Why don’t we call you Munta?”

The man reached down and helped him up. “As for what you’ll do, Munta, you’ll just have to find out.” He looked toward the door. “My name is Relad.”

From then on, Munta was born, from the ruined shell of a tortured murderer. They cleaned him up and dressed him in the same clothing as Relad. The training was odd, nothing but how to hide and memorization exercises, plus Relad sharing information he had come across, names and places that meant nothing to Munta, but he memorised them anyway.

“What is all this for?” Munta finally asked.

“It’s simple,” Relad said. “You will be a spy, Munta. You will go out and gather information for those who would pay.”

“What?” Munta said. “I can’t do that! People will recognise me! I’m a wanted murderer.”

“We both have helmets,” Relad said. “People can’t recognise what they can’t see. And we’ll work on your voice so that even it will be concealed.”

So, Munta learned to speak barely above a whisper, but with still enough force to be clearly understood. As he continued his training, he realised he could understand several languages, though he didn’t remember where he learned them.

“It is time for some hands on training,” Relad said one day and he took Munta from the training grounds. They travelled on horseback, a long and arduous journey until they finally made it to a town Relad referred to as “Bree.”

As soon as they were settled, Relad started taking Munta on missions, where they would hide, either in bushes or between rocks, or high in the rafters of buildings. All they did was listen and report the information back to their employers. It was fairly simple work.

But he hated it. He hated Relad and his barely concealed hatred for Munta, how he would only talk when absolutely necessary, like Munta was some sort of dog. But beggars couldn’t be choosers and this was much better than the alternative. Besides, it was all more than he deserved. He settled into his life and thanked the stars he wasn’t back in prison and in pain.

It worked out pretty well, at least until they were caught. Relad and Munta had been hiding in some bushes, listening to a man and women plan out their plot to run away from their respective families and get married. A fairly simple job, so Munta had relaxed and let himself stretch out a bit in the bush they had been hiding.

“Who’s there?” the woman had asked.

She and the man pulled out daggers and Munta cursed at his own weaponless state. Relad wouldn’t allow him a sword or dagger, which was understandable considering who he had been before. But now it just meant there was one last weapon to defend themselves with.

Relad glared over at Munta and pulled out the small dagger he carried with him. He pulled Munta out of the bush and they both stood up, dressed in their silver clothing and silver helmets. Relad gripped the dagger but raised his helmet and kept a smile on his face.

“We mean you no harm,” he said.

“Oh really,” the man said. “Then why are you dressed like that? You’re from that ridiculous cult of spies, aren’t you?”

“We aren’t a cult,” Relad said. “We’re a highly trained organization.”

“No you people are absolutely insane,” the woman said. “But I do admit you somehow manage to hide very well… most of the time. Well, this one bit of information that won’t be passed on.”

They rushed at them and Munta stumbled back. He _couldn’t_ be caught. So he ran, as Relad fought with the two. Munta thought about trying to help, but a small part of him rose up and told him to run, that this was his chance to get away from Relad for good.

Munta didn’t understand why he needed to get away from the man who had saved his life, but the feeling grew until he couldn’t do anything about it but let it run its course, as it led his legs as far away as he could go.

He made out of the forest they had been working in, back to the town of Bree. Several other spies had taken up shop there, but they ignored him like the dog he was.

“Has anyone seen Relad?” he’d asked one. That got the spies attention, as Relad was their leader.

“No,” the man said. “He probably grew tired of you, murderer.”

Munta waited for Relad, but after a week, there was no sign. He didn’t know how to make it back to the group’s headquarters. Hell, he didn’t even know the name of the group he had been spending so much time training with. And the other spies would not give him any sort of aid.

So, Munta stuck out and went into business for himself. He offered his services, which was harder than he thought it would be. Turns out most people saw Relad’s spy organization as a bit of a joke. They mostly hired them for the small jobs he’d been doing for Relad, which he thought were training jobs. All Munta managed to scrounge up was a few coins here and there from people asking him to see if their loved ones really were planning a surprise birthday celebration.

“I’m sorry Relad,” he said softly to himself. He’d let the one man who’d treated him with any sort of kindness down, all because he let the dark core of his murdering self to come out and control his coward’s feet.

How much longer before he started to kill again? He hadn’t killed a single soul while under Relad’s care, but now he was left to his own devices. Munta had to find Relad, before it was too late.

One night, while he wandering around the streets, looking for work, a hooded man beckoned from the shadows between two buildings. Munta stepped forward, but the man waved him back.

“Stay where you are,” he said in a whisper.

Munta obeyed. “What do you want?”

“I have a job for you,” he said. “Do you know of the elves of Rivendell?”

He nodded. “Yes. Several people have asked to spy on the elves, as a sort of prank. I’ve done it a couple of times.” He frowned. “Why all the secrecy for such a childish game?”

“I am not asking for a prank,” the man said. “The lady Arwen, Queen of Gondor, is heading to Rivendell to speak to her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir. I want you to spy on their conversation.” He held out his hand, revealing several gold coins. “I can pay well.”

“Yes,” Munta said, staring at the gold that would allow him to survive while he continued to wait for Relad... if the man was still alive. “I will do it.”


	4. A Dubious Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you ever trust a spy?

While most times upon returning to Rivendell she had felt only joy to be home, now she did not. Only worry did the Queen of Gondor feel.

She sighed as she reached the familiar old courtyard, slipping down before helping her son as well. He was only five years old but a good boy nonetheless.

"Come on Eldarion. Time to find your uncles." He stayed silent as they walked further into the town.

Arwen knew she'd get some stares from what few elves remained behind after her father sailed.

At her side... Hung a sword that she knew wasn’t hers. She didn't use it, she had her own with her.

Anduril, the sword of her husband.

 

 

Elrohir stood at the edge of the city of Rivendell, looking out over land, while the wind whipped his hair around his head. He sighed. Life moved slowly in Rivendell and time seemed to almost stick in the air and slowly creeps forward like the breeze.

He actually enjoyed the peace, so much different than the chaos of the war. It was quiet moments like this that made him glad to be alive, to be able to think. He’d been doing a lot of thinking lately, about whether he wanted to stay in Middle Earth or sail to the Undying Lands to be reunited with his father and mother.

The world of mortals was filled with a myriad of experiences and he didn’t want to give that up. Even death would be an adventure; one not afforded all of his kind. The thrill of the unknown, even if it meant his fading away into nothingness, had a strong pull on the elf’s heart.

But he wondered about his mother, Celebrían, and how she fared now. He hoped she had found peace at last. He really did want to see her and Elrond again. They’d already lost one child to mortality. He wasn’t sure they could handle losing any more. _Is my desire to face death and cross its’ boundaries worth breaking our parents hearts?_

He’d have to talk to his brother about it, but he didn’t know if Elladan would understand. Elrohir turned and saw his sister and young nephew heading into the main courtyard. He grinned and ran from his spot.

“Arwen, muinthel, I wasn’t expecting –“ He stopped abruptly when he saw her face and the grief etched so tightly into it. “What’s wrong?”

 

While a smile did appear for a few seconds at the approach of one of her brothers, it lasted only a few moments. She was far, far too worried, not to mention lonely without Aragorn by her side now.

"I am glad to see another family member here, Roh. I'd no way of knowing whether you or 'Dan had left to join nana and ada." She sighed.

 

"It is not pleasant tidings that weigh over me now, but I do not think this a good place to speak of them." While her voice was as soft as it had always been, there was deep sorrow in it at the same time. She was very sad now, even with her son around always.

 

"Arwen? Eldarion?"

Elladan had emerged now from the main house, he'd seen them arriving, and stopped beside his brother, eyes locked on the second sword Arwen had. _I can’t be seeing Anduril! That sword belongs to our honour-brother!_

 

“Neither of us have decided yet if we will leave,” Elrohir said, as he reached out and touched his sister’s arm.

He looked over at his brother and followed his eyes to the sword. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed the sword, but he said nothing. Whatever happened, she was right this was not the place to speak of it.

“I am afraid something terrible has happened,” he said to his brother. He turned back to Arwen.

“Come, let us find somewhere private.”

 

“Go and explore, Eldarion,” Arwen said, looking at her son. “Just stay in sight of one of the building at all times.”

“Yes, nana,” the boy replied, before running out of sight.

 

At least she knew her son was safe here. There were after all only elves here in Rivendell. None of the Dúnedain were ever here for long, and usually they were only seen in Annúminas in Arnor, or Minas Tirith in Gondor.

Arwen nodded to her brothers.

“Indeed, not out here, tôren-nin."

 

Elladan frowned as he watched the boy run off. He knew his nephew was safe here in the valley at least. He nodded at Elrohir though, he knew something was wrong despite having not asked. Seeing Anduril with his sister was warning enough.

 

Elrohir looked over at his nephew and his heart clenched. If this was something that wasn’t for his ears… He sighed and started walking over his own private home. His thoughts ran away with him as he walked, all leading back to the grief and worry he saw on his sister’s face.

His mind raced with possibilities and all the peace he felt earlier fell away. All he could think about was finding out what happened. As soon as he stepped through the entryway to his home, Elrohir turned to his sister.

“Muinthel tell me,” he said. “Aragorn is dead, isn’t he?” The words rushed out of his mouth and he regretted them immediately.

 

The words, so rashly spoken caused Arwen to glare hat him. "He is not dead, tôren! I wouldn't be here were that the case and you know it!"

 

Elladan frowned.

"Why don't we all sit down and let Arwen explain things before we ask anymore?" Seemed a fair way to deal with this.

 

Arwen sighed. "That might be best."

 

“I apologise,” Elrohir said softly.

He walked over to a chair and sat down. He forced his mind to refrain from letting any more words rush to his lips. He didn’t want to cause his sister more pain than what already plagued her.

 

Arwen sighed. “You have no idea what the past year has been like for me… Elrohir.”

She paused as she sat down thinking how to explain everything that had happened.

“Aragorn is missing, tôren. He left not long before Eldarion’s fourth birthday, on a trip out to Ithilien to talk to Faramir about something, I remember not what now. He never reached Ithilien.”

She paused.

“Faramir knew Aragorn was coming to speak with him, Faramir was needed in Minas Tirith, they wanted to talk about the details at his home though.”

She closed her eyes.

“Faramir asked the elves of Ithilien to help with searching for Aragorn, but all Legolas was able to bring back to Minas Tirith… was Anduril. He said there was sign of a struggle, but there was no way to know what became of Aragorn.”

She grimaced, tears were starting to run down her face now.

“I cannot keep lying to Eldarion about where his father is. I’ve been telling him he was needed in Annuminas.”

 

“Oh muinthel,” Elrohir said. He stood up and rushed over to her side.

“I’m so sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around her, gripping her tight as the news seeped into his heart.

_Aragorn, missing? What could have happened? Is he okay?_ He bit back all words as he held her, wanting nothing more than to protect her, to take away any pain from his beloved younger sister.

“What… What can we do?” he finally asked.

 

Elladan joined his sister as well, hugging her too.

 

Arwen leaned into her brothers, glad for what comfort she got out of the embrace.

"I am a loss as to what we can do. I sent word to Rohan but there's no sign of him there, Eomer had his lands searched as thoroughly as possible. Not a single cave was left unsearched. Gimli in the Glittering Caves also helped but he found no sign either. So he's not in Gondor, Rohan or Ithilien."

She was very unhappy. "Now you see why I came here, as I'm out of options at home."

 

Elrohir sighed. He tried not to think of the impact of his sister’s dire words, or what they meant for Aragorn’s fate, but instead focused his attention on anything that might help, no matter how slim the chance that they would be successful.

“There is a new cult,” Elrohir said. “They hang around Bree and call themselves spies. Mostly they just hide and gather bits of information for pay. But if one of them has gathered information about Aragorn’s whereabouts, they might be useful.”

Elladan sighed.

“Someone has to have heard something, he can’t have just vanished.”

Even though Aragorn was well known to not leave an easy to follow path when he travelled, there would be something, were he alive.

“We may have to try them.”

 

Arwen sighed. “Worth a try.”

She knew she couldn’t stay here too long, much as she’d like to. Faramir would need her back home soon enough.

“I told Faramir to send word if I’m needed back in Gondor. Until then, Eldarion and I will stay here.”

 

“Yes,” Elrohir said, sighing as well. “It’s worth a try.”

He looked down at his hands, then up at Elladan.

“Shall we head down to Bree and question some of these spies?”

Even though it was a long shot, he wanted to feel like he was doing something.

 

Arwen nodded. “ Worth a try, as I said. Though I’m not staying here, though I would rather my son does. He’s not used to travelling.”

Eldarion would be safer here, with those who were her kin.

 

"It's safer for him here," Elrohir said. "We should start getting things prepared. It won't be hard to find a spy. They're everywhere. We've even caught a few in Rivendell, listening to the most inane conversations."

He shook his head.

"They're harmless, though a bit annoying."

Harmless. Elrohir wondered what these strange spies who listened to random conversations could honestly have heard about Aragorn, or what use they could actually be.

 

Outside, Munta crouched in a clump of bushes, straining to hear the conversation at hand. He'd heard rumors of what happened to Aragorn. Relad had told him how the man had been dragged off to Rhûn. He didn’t know where Relad had gotten the information, but Munta was sure it was valid.

 

"I hope they've heard something." She did not know how much longer she'd last without Aragorn where he was meant to be. Her heart ached to see him again, and that wasn't a good thing, for an elf, even if she had chosen mortality.

"There have been such... here?"

 

“Yes,” Elrohir said. “Several men have hired them to hear our conversations, as a sort of novelty.”

He looked out the window.

 

Munta sighed. Of all the other spies gathered around Bree, none of them had seen Relad. He was starting to worry that his mentor was dead leaving Munta half trained and stuck where he was, afraid to travel any further and risk getting caught by those that must be hunting him for his crimes.

 

"Nothing said here could possibly be of any use for the Edain." Besides there were places they could go to learn things from the elves after all. Like Gondor where she was.

She didn't think there would be anything anyway.

"I'm just really worried about him I guess."

 

“They do it for a laugh,” Elrohir said, shaking his head. “And these so-called spies are willing to humor them.”

He looked over at Arwen.

“I know. We’ll find him, I promise.”

 

Munta sighed and stood up. If he didn’t act now, he’d lose his chance to sell his information. Besides, he was tired of being insulted. He strode over to the entryway and stood there.

“I can help,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but still clear enough to understand.

Munta stood slightly slumped, his shoulders rounded and lank. He wore a silver shirt, silver pants and a pair of long silver gloves. His face was covered with a tarnished silver helmet, with a hinged front that hung in front of his face, obscuring it, except for a tiny slit that showed nothing.

 

Elladan rose swiftly as he heard a moment, turning to look right at Munta.

"And just how long, have _you_ been listening in?"

He had known there was someone else nearby.

 

Arwen gave a startled squeak as someone whom she did not know made their presence known.

 

“Long enough to know I can help,” Munta said.

 

Elrohir glared at him.

“There’s nothing you can do to help. You can’t even hide properly.”

He stepped over towards the man, getting ready to drive him off.

 

“I heard rumors,” Munta said.

He stared past Elrohir towards Arwen. Something about her, her face, her eyes, struck him in the gut. He remained still, but his mind raced at the sight of her. He’d never felt anything like it before. Actually, he’d never felt anything before, beyond the pain and chaos of the dark and mindless peace of being a spy.

“I know where Aragorn is,” suddenly added.

Somehow he had to make sure this didn’t just end with an exchange of money. He had to make sure he didn’t let this woman out of his sight. A part of him wondered if this obsession was the murderer in him resurfacing, so he squashed it all back down.

 

Elladan also moved to block the man from his sister.

"And what would you possibly know about where he is? Who are you, spy?"

He did not know what to think of this intruder.

"Who sent you here to spy on us?"

 

"What could you possibly know about the King of Gondor?" Arwen asked, voice almost deadly though it was still soft, almost inaudible.

 

“My name is Munta.”

He took a small step back.

“I don’t know who sent me. They offered money one night and I agreed. I never saw their face.”

 

“Your kind are fools,” Elrohir said. “A pointless cult of sneaking imbeciles.”

“We are not a cult,” Munta said. “Why does everyone keep saying that? We’re a highly trained organization!”

Somehow he managed to raise his voice without it ever reaching over a whisper.

“My mentor Relad had gathered information before he..” he paused and sighed. Relad was okay. He’d see him again.

“Aragorn has been taken to Rhûn, in a secret compound in the middle of Khand. Relad had me memorise this information as part of my training.”

Relad had made him memorise many bits of information as part of his training. Munta had no idea why, but Relad’s ways could be… unorthodox at times. He never thought any of it would be of any use, as it was all just words to him, information about a world he no longer remembered.

 

Arwen looked almost shocked. _Why would anyone take him there? It’s a wasteland!_

 

Elladan frowned.

"He would never go to those deserted lands on his own."

 

“He didn’t,” Munta said. “People took him there, to a secret compound deep underground.”

 

Elrohir stepped up to Munta.

“Tell us, where is this compound? Who took him? What was their purpose? Tells us!"

His eyes narrowed.

"Or are you just peddling lies, _spy_?”

 

Munta sighed.

“I do not know who they are, or their motives. I only know what I was told. There are rumors of a path they took, but I only know a bit of it. Relad was the one with this information.”

 

Now they were really getting somewhere it seemed. Arwen rose, walking over herself, a glare on her face.

"And who, is Relad?" He'd better be careful with his answer now. Worry did cause some... unfortunate reactions from her at times, especially when someone she loved so much was missing.

 

"Settle down, both of you," Elladan said mildly. "No need to scare him."

 

“Relad is my mentor,” Munta said.

He gripped the doorway, feeling like animal about to be sprung on by a pack of wolves. Munta was treading on thin ice. If he wasn’t careful, he might be forced to reveal his face and thus cement his fate. He couldn’t let their suspicions of him grow too big.

“He’s a spy, like me. He gave me a purpose when I had nowhere else to go. He’s gathered more information, better information, than I could ever dream of.”

 

"And where might we find him?" Elladan asked, his voice was still calm, no other emotions betrayed in his expression at all.

Yes he was worried about Aragorn as much as the other two, but he knew better than to let his emotions get the better of him. After all, Elrond had trained him to be a diplomat.

 

Arwen shook her head.

"I do not believe any man in Gondor, Rohan or Arnor wouldn't have anywhere else to go. Not since my husband reclaimed his birthright."

 

“I… It’s a private matter,” Munta said. “Relad saved my life. I owe everything to him.”

He sighed heavily.

“I do not know where he is. We were separated and no one’s seen him since.”

 

Elrohir glared at Munta.

“How can we be sure any of this is even true? Do you have proof of your claim?”

 

“No,” Munta said. “But Relad might.”

 

"Nothing ever comes good for those who lie for a living, I hope you know that," Elladan replied.

While he wanted to believe him, it wasn't the easiest of things to do.

"Where'd you last see him?"

 

“I do not lie for a living,” Munta said. “I gather information.”

He looked down, lost in thought, remembering when he last saw Relad.

“We were ambushed by a couple who didn’t want their affair known. Relad was armed, I was not. I… I… I ran.”

Munta felt guilt and relief swirl in his mind, fighting each other for dominance. He owed Relad his life, but part of him, that horrid part from the past, felt relief at being away from his mentor. That part whispered lies, that Relad was not to be trusted. Munta pushed that part of himself back down where it belonged, deep inside where it could harm no one.

“He didn’t follow. No one knows where he’s gone. We were in the forests just outside of Bree when it happened.”

 

_Last time any of us were in Bree, Aragorn was safe and Ada was traveling to the Havens to sail to Valinor_ , Elladan mused.

"We all know what spies are, Munta. All of them lie to get out of tricky spots when discovered."

 

"Very unwise to lie to an elf," Arwen added. "So I hope you're telling the truth."

 

“I am,” Munta insisted. “If I did not have information, I would have never revealed myself to you. I would have gone back and taken my payment.”

He paused.

“Which I still must do. The man who asked me to spy on you will be expecting my return.”

 

Elrohir laughed.

"You expect us to just let you run off and reveal all that we discussed to some man that you, as you said, 'never saw his face?'"

 

Elladan frowned.

"After the things you've learnt? Not a chance for you going back there."

 

“I need to go back to at least tell the man that I cannot give him the information,” Munta said. “Professional courtesy and all.”

He sighed.

“And I’ll have to go back if I want to try and find Relad. Or are you no longer interested in finding that king of yours?”

Munta frowned from beneath his helmet.

“Sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled for.”

 

Elrohir gripped his hands into fists. “It was,” he said, his voice tight with rage.

 

Had she been closer, and he not wearing whatever that was meant to be that hid his face, Arwen would have slapped him.

"Mind your words carefully, spy. Do _not_ forget whom you're speaking to!"

 

Elladan frowned, knowing that his words might not be considered wise to Munta, but he voiced them anyway.

"We can’t go back, unless we travel back with him and find out who he was spying on us for."

 

"Sorry," Munta said to Arwen, hanging his head slightly. He thought for a second. If he traveled back with the elves to confront his employer, he would lose his payment. Plus, it would not be proper at all. Spies weren’t supposed to double cross the people who put their trust in them. At least, he assumed they weren’t. Relad never told him the moral obligations of spies, just drilled him in memory exercises and taught him how to hide.

“Fine,” he finally said. These elves would pay him more for information leading to the return of their king than the man would for their words. “I’ll take you to Bree to meet the man who employed me.”

 

“No tricks spy,” Elrohir said. “I will not hesitate to use force.”

 

The patience Arwen had left in her was lacking by now. For too long had she worried where her husband had ended up.

"None of us, I think, would hesitate, Elrohir."

She turned, well aware it wasn't her own sword on the side that turned toward Munta, to return back to sit where she had been. She had to remain strong.

 

"My sister is right," Elladan added. "None of us would."

 

“I understand completely and take it into consideration,” Munta said. He was about to speak again, when he finally noticed the details of the second sword at Arwen’s waist.

No, it couldn’t be. The sword from his scattered memories, the one lying on the ground while he looked down with blood soaked hands. Munta shook his head at the violent scene, but it wouldn’t go away. He tried to remember more, what had happened to the owner of the sword, but he couldn’t recall. _Did I kill them?_

“I see you have two swords,” he said calmly, forcing himself calm. “Why is that?”

 

"I fight with but one sword."

She sighed.

"The other stays in my sight though, it will not leave my sight nor my side. Anduril, The Flame of the West, the sword of the King, my husband."

She did not understand why he'd ask such a thing

 

“I’m sorry,” Munta said. “I was merely curious. I didn’t mean to pry into something painful.”

Munta’s mind was racing, though he kept his body calm. _Did I kill Aragorn? Am I about to head out with three victims of my murderous past?_ No. If he had killed him, Relad would not have gotten information that spoke of his imprisonment in Rhûn.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved. If he was, helping these people would be folly. Still, this could be a chance for Munta to redeem himself, do something to ease the suffering he’d caused so many. There were too many stains to ever truly wash them away, dark acts he couldn’t even remember.

 

“Why are you so quiet?” Elrohir asked, cutting into Munta’s thoughts. “You’ve been standing there for a while.”

 

“I apologise,” Munta said. “My mind curves in on itself from time to time. I guess it’s part of being a spy. So much information from so many different people.”

 

"I guess a mind such as yours would do that," Elladan replied. "Though I think seeing Aragorn's sword meant something more than you're letting on. Speak!"

 

“I… I do not know what it means,” Munta said. “My thoughts are in pieces. I don’t know what my memories mean, or which ones are important. Relad would know more than me.”

He was being honest, in a way. Munta’s violent memories were in a jumble and Relad knew more about his crimes than Munta himself. Hopefully, that would be enough for the three and make them keener about finding Relad.

 

"Then he had better be alive."

Arwen frowned. Her husband’s sword had sparked something she was sure of it.

"Until Aragorn is found, Anduril remains with me."

She wouldn't allow another to wield it. The sword was far, far too precious.

 

“I’m sure he is,” Munta said.

At least, he hoped. Relad’s death would bring him nothing but trouble. He looked over at the sword again. He wondered what it would be like to hold a sword, to swing a blade through the air. His memory was fragmented too much to know what a weapon felt like, gripped tightly in his hands.

No. He mustn’t let those thought get a hold of him.

 

“I will make sure no one touches it,” Elrohir told his sister.

He looked over at Munta, giving him a warning glance.

 

“I have no desire to touch that or any sword,” he said. Maybe if he said it often enough, it would become true.

 

“You’d better not even try, Munta. I won’t use it, but the other I can use and I will to protect it.”

She smiled at her brother though.

“I know you will tôren.”

 

“I don’t plan on it,” Munta said to Arwen.

If he ever touched a sword or weapon, he hoped someone was around to stop him before he went too far.

 

Elladan considered all that had been said. Long had it been since he or his brother had been to Bree. Time to decide when they left, and he felt the sooner the better. The more chance, that way, of finding Estel once more.

“Then tomorrow, we will ride for Bree. _All_ of us. Estel dar."

 

“Yes, that will be best,” Elrohir said. “We will ride first thing tomorrow and we will find Aragorn. Estel dar.”

 

_More like estel thinna_ , Munta thought to himself, but he didn’t speak. Maybe there was hope, though probably not for him, in the long run.

 

Arwen nodded. "I can only hope we find out what we can before it’s too late."

She knew she could remain strong only so much longer. Her hope would fade soon. That was not a good thing for an elf.

"At least we know he's alive."

“We will,” Elrohir said.

He walked over to his sister.

“Please don’t be disheartened, muinthel. All will be well. We will find Aragorn and punish those that dared take him.”

 

Munta hoped that wouldn’t involve him, or that he was at least long gone before they learned about his part in this whole mess. Then again, they might never find out. Crap, he didn’t even know his part in this whole mess.

 

"Easier for you to say than for me to do, it's been a year already."

She was surprised she hadn't given in yet. She had no way of knowing how she still lingered. Perhaps it was because Estel had called her his hope.

 

“I’ll make sure we find him,” Elrohir said. “No matter what.”

He was even willing risk his own life if it meant he could make sure his sister would be okay.

 

Munta just stood there, feeling out of place in this family’s grief. He felt life a voyeur, which was what he was, but being exposed like this, not hidden, made it feel all too real, like he was stealing something from them by being here, listening to their pained words.

 

Elladan sighed.

"We will show you somewhere you can rest for the night," he told Munta.

 

"I am content sleeping outside," Munta said.

He had been sleeping hidden in the streets of Bree for the past week and didn't want to put the elves out too much with accommodations.

Elladan raised an eyebrow.

"It is no trouble for us. It wouldn't be right for you to do so here."

 

Elrohir looked over at him.

“Elladan is correct. Imladris does not have people sleeping outside like dogs.”

 

“Fine,” Munta said. “Just tell me where to go.”

He dreaded the coming day, but he also wanted this one to end, even though night time was anything but calm for him. Nightmares plagued him whenever he tried to sleep.

 

Elladan smiled.

"Glad that's clear."

He didn't want the man anywhere out of sight really.

 

Arwen nodded.

"I think I'll just use the room I had when I lived here."

 

“I’ll go wherever you think is best,” Munta said. “Just tell me where.”

 

Elrohir glared at him.

“You should sleep somewhere nearby, in case you decide to run off.”

 

Elladan smiled grimly.

"Not so needed, Elrohir. I'll just go speak to the guards."

 

Arwen knew that would keep him from bolting.

 

Elrohir looked over at Munta.

“I’d advise not antagonizing the guards,” he said.

 

“I had planned on running around poking their ears, but thanks to your advice, I will refrain,” Munta said.

_Wait, where in Arda did that come from?_

 

"Especially not Glorfindel. You might think we three are old... Think again if you meet him."

Arwen chuckled.

"Now that I'd like to see."

 

“I apologise,” Munta said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Even though the others seemed to not mind his words, Munta felt it was inappropriate to indulge is such levity. That was not the proper way for a spy to respond, especially not in a situation such as this. Munta’s mind seemed to be running away from him far too often for his liking.

 

"Not to worry," Arwen replied.

 

Munta nodded. These elves seemed a lot more forgiving than Relad. Then again they knew nothing of his past. If they did, they wouldn’t be so keen on tolerating him or his missteps.

 

"Come with me," Elladan spoke now as he turned toward the door to the room.

He'd show Munta where he could sleep and refresh himself, as well as find Glorfindel. Best his former mentor met Munta so he could warn the guard properly.

 

"Okay," Munta said.

He stepped over to Elladan and cast a glance back towards Arwen and Elrohir.

"Until tomorrow then," he said with a nod.

 

Arwen said nothing. She was very close to breaking point now, and she did not trust her voice.


	5. Insights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's good to bare one's soul.

Elladan led him out of the house, and down the street.

"Lord Glorfindel doesn't speak as much Westron as my brother, sister and I do."

 

"That is okay," Munta said. "I don't only speak one language."

Munta smiled, though no one would be able to see it. "It comes in handy as a spy."

 

"Oh? What else do you speak?"

Quenya was out of the question no humans knew it aside from the oath Aragorn made when he was crowned.

 

"I am not sure," Munta admitted. "My mind is not the most... I guess you could say 'whole.'"

He shrugged. "I guess I learn what languages I know by exposure."

 

Elladan frowned. That was very strange.

"You bear a Sindarin name which is unusual. You don't sound like one of the Dúnedain or Númenorian. Sindarin is an elven language most humans do not speak it."

 

"My name was given to me by my mentor," Munta said. "And my past is not something I wish to discuss or you would wish to hear, for that matter."

 

Elladan frowned for a second as something was wrong.

"Wait, if I'm not mistaken... Munta is Quenya for... Nothing. Who would give you such a name?"

He felt almost appalled by that name. Someone clearly knew nothing about Quenya. He stopped to knock on a door to another house.

 

“Munta is a fitting name,” Munta said, shrugging slightly as he followed Elladan. “Especially for a spy. I would be nothing if it weren’t for Relad. Even now, I am still nothing, but at least I serve some purpose.”

 

There were footsteps, before the door opened to reveal another elf. This elf had hair the same golden colour as the sun, and appeared to be a lot younger than Elladan looked himself. The true blue eyes on the other hand... were ancient and past grief showed in them clearly.

 

"Elladan?" The young voice sounded wrong.

Then it turned to annoyance, and a quick question in Quenya came from Glorfindel's voice.

"What's a spy doing with you?"

 

"Peace Glorfindel," Elladan replied calmly, in Westron. "He's not here for long, of that I assure you."

 

"Come in then," Glorfindel replied in Sindarin, moving out of the way. "You should know, Eldarion's here at the moment."

 

Elladan chuckled. "I already know. My sister's here."

He entered, nodding for Munta to follow him.

 

Munta looked over at Glorfindel.

“Hello,” he said.

He remembered that Elladan had said that Glorfindel didn’t speak as much Westron, so he decided to say the next part in Sindarin.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Munta. As Elladan said, I won’t be staying long. Only the night, actually. And who's Eldarion? Is he another elf?”

 

Glorfindel gave Munta a swift, loathing look.

"I'm surprised you know our language. As for Eldarion..."

 

Before he could explain, the boy was there looking up at the stranger.

"That'd be me!"

 

"Eldarion is Queen Arwen and King Aragorn's son, Munta," Elladan quickly spoke.

 

Munta looked down at the child and smiled under his helmet. He liked children, though he didn’t interact with them much in his line of work. He knelt down next to Eldarion.

 

“Hey kid,” he said, his voice gentler than before, though still in his strange whisper. “Ever meet a spy before?”

 

Eldarion looked up at the stranger.

"Only those who've made the mistake of being caught back home."

 

"I'm not that kind of spy," Munta said. "I deal in small scraps of information."

As he stared at the child, something stirred in his mind, something odd and out of place. He saw another child in his mind's eye, an infant cradled in his arms. He couldn't tell if it was male or female, or what its relation to him was. If there was any relation at all. He quickly pushed the memory away before it had the chance to turn violent. He put his hand to his helmet and found his fingers shaking.

 

Both elves noticed but both reacted differently. Glorfindel shifted in front of Eldarion, while Elladan looked concerned.

"Are you alright, Munta?" Elladan asked, in Westron.

 

"I am fine," Munta said. "These fits come upon me from time to time. I'll be all right in a moment."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then looked up at Glorfindel.

"I would not have harmed the child," he said in Sindarin. "I am not a monster." _At least not anymore._

 

"I can't just believe that." Glorfindel frowned.

 

Elladan nodded. "I see."

 

“Then do what you must,” Munta said in Sindarin again.

He stood up shakily and looked over at Elladan. “Lead me where you may,” he said in Westron.

 

Elladan spoke to Glorfindel once more, in Quenya. Telling him to make the guard alert about Munta, that he wasn't to leave without the twins.

He nodded to Munta, and switched to Westron.

"Come."

 

Munta followed Elladan. He sighed as he walked.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," he said to Elladan. "I really do want to help."

Elladan sighed. "Well you were spying on us, Munta. You started things off badly. I am not so quick tempered as my brother, even though we're twins. While I want to believe you want to help, Elrohir will not be so certain."

 

“Then I will try not to give him any reason to distrust me more,” Munta said. “And I do apologise for spying on you. It was nothing personal and I would not have used the information for any ill use.”

 

Elladan gave him a long look. "I hope not, considering what you heard could do to impact on Gondor."

He paused, before grinning.

"I'll bet you got more than you bargained for by spying on elves this time."

 

Munta laughed, the first time he laughed in a long while, still in the whisper he had been trained in. “That is definitely true. Most of what I hear is trifles and gossip. I was actually expecting more of the same.”

 

"Nowadays that's what you'd usually get. There's no war or danger really any more. We linger, but we won't be here forever."

 

Munta frowned at the mention of danger and war, recalling with shudder all the crimes he was reminded of during his torture, vile dark things he couldn’t truly remember. For that, he was grateful. But the memory of his time in that dark prison was clear in his mind, so he quickly pushed the thoughts away where they could do no harm.

“The elves are sailing,” he said, deciding to focus on that. “What is the land you’re leaving to like?”

 

“I have walked Middle Earth for over two thousand years Munta, and yet there is nothing here that compares to it, or so Glorfindel has said. He lived there once, back in his… former life but it not my story to tell how he has been reborn and why he died the first time.”

Elladan had too great an amount of respect for his mentor to dare speak of the Balrog.

“The very sand itself, in Valinor glitters like diamonds. More beautiful, more fair than Middle Earth has ever been. No mortal, save our grandparents has ever set foot there and lived. Only elves may go there.” Now there was sorrow in his voice.

 

“It sounds very beautiful,” Munta said. He wondered what it was like to have beauty in one’s life, not material beauty, but beautiful feelings, the kind that warmed the heart rather than stabbed at it. He turned toward Elladan.

“Are you all right?” he asked, concern showing in his voice, past the hoarse whisper.

 

Elladan sighed, looking at the ground for a few moments.

"While it is true that Elrohir, Arwen and I are of elven blood... we're not pure elves. We're the last of the half elves... and because of that we have to make a choice. Arwen chose mortality to be with her king, she will never see those shores. She will die here. I don't know if Elrohir's made his choice.. but mine is already made."

“That has to be a tough choice to make,” Munta said. “I am glad I do not have such a burden on me.” _I have enough burden already._

“I’m curious,” he said. “What choice did you make? If you don’t mind my asking.”

 

Elladan sighed. “The opposite of her. I will sail one day, when I feel the time is right and I can no longer abide here.”

 

"Good for you," Munta said. "Death is a nasty business. There's too much of it in this world."

He wondered what these people, who could choose immortality yet knew the possibility of a mortal life, would think of Munta's blood soaked past. They probably saw life as precious and he'd been one who stole it away from the innocent.

 

"We've watched many long since mortal family members die, Munta. Our uncle chose mortality like our sister, and we've met many of his descendants. Never gets easier, especially not Aragorn. We helped raise him, he's like a brother to us."

 

"I'm sorry," Munta said. "This must be hard on all of you."

He paused, a sudden curiosity coming over him, to learn more about the man he most likely helped kidnap.

"What was Aragorn like?"

 

“Aragorn was - _is_ a very good man,” Elladan replied. “I am glad to call him my gwador, or honour brother. I never thought a mortal, even a Dúnedain like him would be worthy of my sister, but, he proved us all wrong.”

 

“My experience with men is secrets,” Munta said. “Some of them may have been good, but it is not my place to know that part of them.”

He sighed.

“I do not think I am a good man,” he admitted.

He couldn’t be, not with his past, whether he remembered it or not.

 

"We all pick our own past, Munta. You cannot be so bad as the way we used to be... many years ago."

 

"How can you pick your past?" Munta asked. "And what do you mean? I doubt you have ever done anything bad."

At least not compared to him, but they didn't need to know the extent of his misdeeds. _Misdeeds_. As if that word was enough to contain what he'd done.

 

Elladan laughed. "Not me, aside from slaying orcs and goblins. My ancestors."

 

"We can't be held responsible for our ancestors," Munta said. "It's our own actions that we should judge."

 

"Aragorn once struggled with what his did, but he overcame that weakness." Elladan smiled at the thought.

 

"That's good," Munta said. "Still it is also good to know where you come from. And where you've been."

Then again, Munta dreaded truly remembering where he'd been. Darkness was so much safer than regaining what he lost.

"I wonder, though. Can a man overcome his own past, his own actions?"

 

"Put your mind to it, and keep it in mind as a goal, and anything's possible," Elladan replied.

 

"You're right," Munta said.

He would do what Elladan suggested. The past would not pull him back and he would do whatever he could to ease the stain of what he had wrought, starting with bringing Aragorn back home to those who loved him.

"Thank you."

 

"You do not always have to be what you are. You could choose another path."

 

"I am trying," Munta said. "But I do not remember the path I was on, except through the words of others. How do I make sure I do not take it again?"

 

"Be more careful about the company you choose. If you think someone has led you down the wrong path, do not spend more time with them."

 

"I do not choose my company," Munta said. "My company has been chosen for me. But Relad is a good man, he gave me a chance at life when no one else would. I do not think he would be one to lead me down a dark path."

 

"He the one that trained you? The one who gave you the name?" Elladan did not like the idea of this man, though he'd not met him.

 

"Yes," Munta said. "My life before Relad chose me was... well, it was hell. Death would have been better than what I lived. Relad saved me, from my situation and myself."

 

"I doubt all of your life would have been so dark."

There was something about him that Elladan could not work out.

 

"It was," Munta said. He didn't mention that the life he spoke of was his life in a prison, for he didn't want the elf to start asking about what might have sent him to such a place.

"Darkness, pain, gnawing terror that ate me up from the inside, an endless night with no day or time, or hope."

He sighed. "I am sorry. I shouldn't be burdening you with these thoughts."

 

Elladan frowned. "That makes me wonder. For I've noticed... Some of the things we've said or done since you revealed yourself... You react to. I wonder why?"

His expression softened.

"My brother and sister may think nothing of it but I do not see it that way. Something wants to be remembered... Or someone."

 

Munta sighed heavily.

"Please," he said. "Don't ask me that. I'm willing to help, isn't that enough? Why does the past matter that much? You said yourself that people can choose a new path. Please don't make me confess things I don't even remember doing!"

No. He'd said too much, too early. If they found out now, they'd have him executed, or worse, sent back.

 

_Oh Valar!_ "No ill will do I harbor for you Munta. I merely wish to help you." Elladan's tone was sincere.

 

Munta looked at him and decided to trust him. Maybe because he needed to tell someone his secret or he felt his brain would burst at the seams.

"I am a murderer," he said. "I have killed many innocent people, though I do not remember it. All I have is fragments, hazy images of death and fighting. My first clear memory is being imprisoned for my crimes, enduring the punishment, the pain of what I put others through. Relad released me from all that. He gave me a second chance. I want to use that chance. I haven't harmed anyone since I've been free. I know I can change."

 

Hmmm. He was surprised though it didn't show.

"You seem too... Dare I say, friendly to have that sort of a past."

 

"But it is true all the same," Munta said. "I am a... very wanted man. I don't know what changed in me, but I try to push that part of myself away."

He suddenly tensed up.

"Do you promise not to tell anyone about this? Please, they would just send me back and... I can't go back there. I'd rather die."

 

"I won't say a word to anyone," Elladan promised.

 

"Thank you," Munta said. "I promise you, I won't be a harm to anyone. If I am, if I show any signs of violence, you can kill me if you wish."

 

"I do not want that to be necessary," Elladan replied. "I'd rather not."

 

"Hopefully it won't be," Munta said. "I do not want to hurt anyone. It sickens me that I ever did."

 

"There is always hope in Middle-Earth Munta. You may not have actually done so, it may well be something you were forced to believe you did so. I don't know what vile man would do something like that but I don't think you are the type. Not from what I've seen."

 

Munta stared at Elladan. He'd never even considered that what everyone had said wasn't true.

"But then why was I in prison? What purpose would anyone have for lying to someone about past crimes, especially as vile as was described to me?"

 

Elladan sighed. "Perhaps to make you believe you did them. Or to repress the past you really have."

 

"No," he said, recalling his memory of blood soaked hands and Aragorn's sword prone on the ground. "I have remembered one thing, one that at least paints me in a dark light. Maybe not as dark as they said, but still dark. And that... seems so much trouble to go to just to repress someone's past. Unless I knew information they don't want shared, about whatever dark dealings we were all involved in."

He shook his head. "No, I refuse to believe that of Relad. He saved me."

 

"Might I ask what that thing is you remember? It may help to talk about it. I've found that often the case."

 

"Only if you keep your promise not to tell and promise not to kill me," Munta said.

He sighed. It might be best to tell, before he found out later.

 

Elladan raised an eyebrow. _Something that bad_?

“As I said, I only wish to help,” he replied. “I will not do anything that will harm you unless you intend to harm me.”

 

"I don't intend to harm anyone!" Munta said, his voice raised, but still in his strange whisper. "But I... Brace yourself."

He paused several seconds.

"I have a clear memory, triggered at seeing Aragorn's sword. I remember looking down at it, sitting in the dust, surrounded by blood. My hands were also covered in blood."

He tensed slightly. "I'm sorry. I think I was one of the people involved in his kidnapping."

Munta backed away, in case Elladan decided to attack him.

 

An eyebrow raised at this news. Things were getting interesting indeed. Grey eyes gave the man a searching look.

“You don’t look strong enough to have been able to cause that to happen. Aragorn cannot be bested with a blade, not even by an elf wielding two swords.”

 

"He may have been drugged," Munta said. He didn't know how he knew, but the words seemed like the truth. "And I may have not been alone, but only played a small part in his capture. I wish I could tell you more, but I just don't remember."

He sighed. "If I could, I might be able to tell you with certainty where he was taken.”

 

Elladan sighed. “One way or another, things will be revealed when we reach Bree tomorrow.”

 

"I hope so," Munta said. "Or we'll just be besieged with more questions. For what it's worth and I know it's not worth much..."

He looked away.

"I'm sorry."

 

“In most cases I would say it is a good thing elves are patient, but this time it is not a good thing. My sister is the one with the most to lose from not having him with her. So should we find who is responsible for this... they have much to answer for from her."

 

"I am one the ones who is responsible," Munta said.

He sighed.

"But I guess it is only fair that I eventually have to answer to her. It will still be preferable to where I was."

 

"Perhaps not wise to tell her any of what you've told me yet," Elladan cautioned.

 

"I wouldn't dream of it," Munta said. "At least not until we find out where Aragorn is, either through my memory or other means."

 

"Sooner we find him the better for all involved," Elladan replied. "Were he in Gondor or Rohan he'd be found already and Arwen wouldn't be here."

 

"Relad has to have some information," Munta said. "Hopefully he's made it back to Bree. And my memory might eventually become clear enough to show you the way to where Aragorn is."

 

"He had better be there. He owes us much." Not that the man likely realised it.

 

"He may not have had anything to do with it," Munta said. He felt the need to defend the man who saved his life. "I only know that I was involved."

 

"In a way that you can of be certain of, am I correct?"

 

"I am not certain of anything," Munta said.

He sighed.

"I guess we shall have to wait and see what happens tomorrow."

 

Elladan nodded, walking inside a house, his own, which he lived in with his mate and son. "Come on, Munta."

 

Munta entered the house. He looked around, glancing over every inch.

"Where are we?" he asked.

 

Elladan smiled. "This is my house. The only others who live here are my wife and son. My son is curious so you may catch him watching you. He's only two."

 

"I hope I do not frighten your family," Munta said.

Helmeted spies were not something that most people saw as harmless. Though, like Elladan said, the child would most likely be okay. Children usually were innocent. Munta shook his head. He mustn't think about innocence. Despite what the elf had said, he still wasn't sure that the crimes he had been told of had been exaggerated. And even if they were, his part in the kidnapping of Aragorn was enough to showcase that Munta could be dangerous. Best not think anything that could lead to a more murderous nature being released.

 

"Ethiriel is not of the same background as me, nor that of Glorfindel. She will not ask too much of you. Elnaru on the other hand is a spirited boy. I do not think he will be too overly excited at a guest."

He called out in Silvan this time, and soon a red haired elleth and a small black haired boy appeared.

 

Munta nodded his head politely. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he said to both of them. "My name is Munta and I will be staying here for the night."

 

Ethiriel smiled. "You are staying with us?" she asked, in careful Westron.

 

"I believe so," Munta said. "And I will attempt to be quiet and not disturb you all."

He looked over at Elladan.

"Thank you for your hospitality. Especially considering all that I have told you."

 

"The only time I wouldn't allow someone to stay in the valley would be if they were an orc. Were they one... you'd not have gotten even into the valley without being speared by arrows."

 

Munta shuddered at the thoughts of orcs, both from the idea of them and the crimes that had been screamed at him during his torture, how he mimicked orc attacks to hide his murders.

"I guess that's one thing I can be grateful about," he said. "At least I'm not an orc."

 

"Far from it, Munta," Elladan replied.

He sighed.

"Ethiriel will show you somewhere you can stay the night."

 

Munta sighed as well. Elladan kept insisting he was a better man than evidence provided. Even if he truly wasn't a mass murderer, he was still involved in a brutal kidnapping.

"Come now," he said. "You know perfectly well that I have some darkness in my past."

He walked over to Ethiriel.

"I will go where you tell me," he said. "Thank you."

 

Elladan smiled. "I rather not judge people for their pasts."

 

"You won't win that argument with my mate," Ethiriel said. "Come."

 

"I am grateful for that," Munta said. "It's nice to meet someone who judges me for what I'm doing and not things I can barely remember. You are a good person."

He followed Ethiriel.

 

"Even I don't understand the Noldor all the time, and I'm married to one. I am not of the Noldor," Ethiriel said.

 

Elladan smiled, calling his son back as he watched them go.


End file.
